Backstory Arc
by rapid-apathy
Summary: Abed's first forays into the world of girls. Sketchscrap, removed scene from Applied Cinematic Architecture.


**Fandom: **Community  
**Pairing:** Abed and a few OCs (backstory)  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** 1770  
**A/N:** This was originally supposed to be a part of _Applied Cinematic Architecture_, but it grew into something that really I just couldn't work in. Which made me sad, because it was an integral part of the backstory, but I had to side step it. But I liked it too much to delete or dump it. So I made it a stand alone, which I think it _mostly_ works. It's basically a scrap or sketch. Although no one will read it since there's an OC in it so who gives a fuck, lol. But I thought I might as well post it. Someone might like it.

OOOOOO

According to Sarah, the woman from the falafel shop, women need sex in a complex series of interdependent actions with enough variables to make calculus look easy. But not to be scared, it was really quite simple if you break it down.

Locking the office door behind her and shutting off the light so only the sun peeked through a small window above them; she sat next to him on the couch in the small back office. Surrounded by piles of papers and folders and boxes in the dim dusted light she told him that for him, what would work best is the quiet approach. Women are drawn to confident guys who aren't desperate and all over them, at least any girl he'd want to be with. Don't get over talky during sex either, because with you Mr. Detail, you're bound to accidentally say something that might upset her. She asked him if he knew what she meant. And thinking about it for a minute he said no. Well, sort of.

"Of course you do," she said. "You're a smart boy."

She took off her apron and threw it on his dad's desk chair a few feet away. She always smelled like flowers and tahini and clove cigarettes.

Slipping off her shoes, she said, "But women love to be buttered up, especially when they're naked there is no time better to tell a girl she's pretty." She stood back up and pulled her knee length skirt down and stepped out of it. As she unbuttoned her shirt and he lifted his own over his head and off, she said, "Even if they're not. If they're fat or have bad hair or any other of the negative things that women hate themselves over."

She put a knee on either side of his and straddled his lap, sinking her pelvis down firm against his. Taking his face into both her hands, she leaned in and said, "And even if you think those things about her, you can't ever say them. Good things only and nothing else. Got it?"

She was always soft and smooth and so naked. Think back to when you never even knew a woman could be so naked in real life. He would have said anything to her she wanted. Or do anything to her she wanted. Or do anything she asked him to do.

Drive over a homeless guy? Totally.

Run through a GOP event wearing nothing but a vest screaming, "Zionists will pay!"? Not a problem.

Punch a baby? Just ask!

Sarah had possibly developed the best positive reinforcement behavioral training that school systems should be modeling around the country. Running his hands up and down her thighs and back, he said, "Good things only. Got it."

"Good," she said pulling his face to hers and kissing him. "Work on filtering all that negativity out."

Her with her hand shoved between them, working on the button and zipper of his jeans, his face buried in her breasts, he asked her if she'd ever seen that scene in Original Sin when Angelina Jolie hops on top of Antonio Banderas.

Laughing, she said, "Also, try to keep that movie referencing in your head."

"Sorry."

She told him that women love compliments and need to think they're doing a good job. Like right now, Abed, you could tell me anything you like, _positive_, that is. What is it you like about me right now?

Right now, I'm really, liking your hands down my pants.

Of course you are, but what about _me_ do you like about it?

Your hands are soft?

Are you asking me or telling me.

Telling you.

So tell me then. In present tense. With an intensifier.

Your hands are so soft.

Very good. Are you starting to understand a bit better?

I think so.

The most important thing is his knowing a girl's body. This wasn't something you could learn in books, she told him. You had to feel, listen and when possible, see for yourself. This was hands on learning. Real life experience. What they call applied skills.

And equally important, she said working her hand over him, is your jaw muscles and dexterity.

But that takes work.

This was at least ten years ago, when Sarah came to work over the summer. She was originally from a village close to his family's back home. She had moved to Greendale from New York and his dad gave her this job to help her out until she could get settled. Sarah wasn't her real name of course, most Palestinians take on an American name when they come over. When you have a foreign hard to pronounce name from an Islamic country, you'd get it.

Really, it just saves time that way.

Sarah was at least thirty, divorced and had an uncanny ability to make him feel at ease. She would smile and listen, or perhaps pretended to listen, to him go on and on about the new Star Trek: Voyager season and why it had logical inconsistencies from the previous season. Sarah would cut lemons and grind chick peas and he would cut meat in the large metal slicer, back and forth, back and forth; and by the time an entire roast was cut, he would be from Star Trek to the newest Friends episode. And Sarah would smile and pat him on the back as she made her way out of the kitchen and say, "Oh, I love that Chandler."

She never made him feel out of place or like he was bothering her. If he was, she would tell him straight forward, and that's why he liked Sarah.

Between three and five the restaurant was dead nearly every day. It would just be her and him and so they would sit at a table and watch TV together or play cards. They would talk about the gossip from back home, what his school was like, and make fun of or complain about the customers that had come in during the day.

Watching one of those judge shows that come on mid-day, Sarah said, this one time, she went, "Hey Abed." She said, "Do you think I'm pretty?"

And he told her he did.

"Abed," she said. "Have you ever been with a girl before?"

And he shook his head that he hadn't.

Sarah smiled, touched his hand, and told him that was good. He asked her why and she said, "Because it means no silly high school girl has taken your first time."

Because you never get that back.

Now being the young, more awkward version of himself he was then, it took him a minute to come around to being even close in the same ballpark of what was happening here. The extent of his experience with girls was once he kissed one of his childhood friends when they were about twelve while playing video games in her room. A blond little thing. So blond she had the same blond eyebrows and eyelashes. He was the one who kissed her and she giggled with embarrassment, burying her face in her hands. She asked him if that meant they were boyfriend and girlfriend and he said he wasn't sure but they might have to be now. She moved away a month later.

When he was sixteen, the year or so before he was sitting here, next to Sarah, a girl in his history class was paired with him to do a presentation on some stupid historical thing no one cares about for homework. Shy and one of those girls who dressed in baggy dark clothes, who shopped at Hot Topic too much and hid behind long black bangs. They had to do it at her house, because his dad would probably have a fit with such a blatant display of Western imperialistic historical revisionism in his house, and he really didn't feel like dealing with that particular rant in front of a girl no less.

One day after they printed out things about some old dead guys that were probably Zionistic history destroyers, they glued to construction paper the little paragraphs they partially copied, pasted and reworded from Wikipedia in cool fonts and cut out pictures and attached them to a posterboard. Spreading rubber cement with the little gummy brush on the back of George Washington's face, she asked him if he wanted to make out. Sure, he said.

On her Hello Kitty covered bed in her room plastered with Nirvana and Metallica and Che Guevara posters, they both ineptly attempted to do something he'd seen on TV a million times, but quickly learned that real life application was not so fluid. Even channeling the sexual prowess of Tom Cruise, their teeth knocked, he caught his lip on her braces and they would accidentally breathe through their mouths making terrible sounds ruining any kind of sexiness whatsoever; but she let him go under her bra and squeeze her firm tits and it was awesome. Afterwards, he went home feeling like a stud master and had to take at least three special time showers a day for weeks.

But the vast majority of his experience with girls was they were usually one of a group shoving him in a locker or leaving him at the mall.

Maybe if he'd known how to kiss the emo girl from school and not caused her to choke on his own exhale, he would have heard from her again. The possibility of Sarah being a Mrs. Robinson popped into his head.

He asked, "You don't have a teenage daughter roughly my age do you?"

Laughing she said, "No, Abed. I didn't have any kids when I was thirteen."

He said, "Okay, that's good."

That settled, he figured this would be more of a Stifler's mom scenario, only Sarah was younger, but the basic principles still applied. And even better yet, there was no Stifler to beat him up afterwards. Okay, he could be a Finch. "So you could teach me to kiss better?"

She nodded. "That's simple."

"But why are you doing this?"

She shrugged, "Because I think you're a good kid. And one day you will fall in love. Because, in the end, why do anything. There doesn't have to be a reason for everything, does there?"

"But you can't fall in love with me," she said. "I mean it."

Not that one can control such a thing, but he told her he wouldn't and she said, "I'm serious. Don't do that."

"Alright," he said. "But why?"

"Why?" she said. "Because I like you, Abed."


End file.
